


Indelible

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Codependency, Community: hc_bingo, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M, One-Off Act of Violence, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, background Charles/Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Hank just want to put what happened in Cuba behind them. But some things can't just be wiped away, no matter how much you wish that they could and the mark on Charles's wrist that says he's Erik's soulmate is in many ways the simplest thing in their way ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indelible

Hank found out in 1963, not long after they’d heard that Erik had been locked up under the Pentagon for the rest of his life.

_Hank!_

It wasn’t the first time that Hank had heard the Professor call for him in his mind. It still made him jump but it didn’t disturb him unduly – until the Professor kept screaming, mental voice filled with rising hysteria.

_Hank, Hank, Hank!_

Hank dropped everything and ran, the voice still screaming in his mind. Alex and Sean were out, it was only him and Charles in the building and he didn’t know what was happening. Charles wasn’t saying. He just continued to cry out wildly. Hank took the stairs two at a time, trying to broadcast that he was coming, that it was gong to be all right but nothing seemed to calm those hysterical shrieks.

He threw himself through the door and saw Charles at once, huddled in his wheelchair. It took him a second to work out what was wrong, why there was so much red …

Then he saw the way Charles was holding his arm and the blood that was pouring from his wrist.

“Oh my God!”

“I didn’t mean it!” Charles said, his voice thick. “I didn’t mean it, Hank, I didn’t mean it, it’s not what you think, oh God, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry … ”

Hank didn’t answer. He was too busy grabbing a towel, pressing it against the wound, trying to work out if he needed to call an ambulance, if he could do this himself, just how bad the wound was …

It wasn’t too bad. It was relatively shallow, only across the wrist rather than down it. The blood was frightening but it was already slowing now that Hank was there and putting pressure on the cut. He didn’t think an ambulance was required, which he was glad about. It was difficult when you were a monster and with the others out …

He fetched the first aid kit. When he returned, Charles had moved the towel away again and was staring at his injured wrist. Hank sat down beside him, about to scold him for removing the pressure when he saw the dark cursive beneath the wound. Everyone knew that sloped writing. Everybody longed to see it on their own wrists someday.

Even with the wound over it, it was blindingly clear what the writing said.

*

As far as people could tell, soulmates had been around since humans had roamed the Earth. There was evidence in almost all recorded cultures of individuals that had markings on their wrists, markings that only developed when they met a certain person. Their soulmate.

Of course, the commonness of such events had increased in recent years. There was no guarantee that your soulmate lived on the same continent of you, not even that they would be the same age as you (although studies of recorded couples showed that there was normally only an age difference of ten years or so, which Hank found very interesting.) But now that people could travel more, they were finding their soulmates more often too. Only slightly more often, mind. The majority of people still lived their whole lives without ever seeing that writing loop its way over their wrists.

Charles had been one of the lucky ones.

*

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Charles didn’t answer immediately and Hank continued to bind the wound, not sure if he should ask again. He could feel misery radiating from Charles’s mind, misery that normally he was shielding from them all. It was distressing to feel the Professor losing control like this. He didn’t like it.

“Erik didn’t want to,” Charles said abruptly, his voice shaking slightly. “He … he hated the mark, it … I understood, I did, it was just the mark, not the idea, he was happy enough with … it was easy to hide with long sleeves anyway, sometimes we put a bit of make-up on it if we were worried … and you know, people don’t always … like it when it’s two men.”

“You thought we’d _care?_ ”

“We didn’t know. People can … surprise you unpleasantly, you know. And we were so busy … Besides, as Erik didn’t really want to talk about it, there didn’t seem any reason to push. I thought we’d have all the time – ”

He broke off, his voice cracking. Hank didn’t know what to say. What was there to say, what could anybody say? They’d all known that Charles had been devastated by Erik abandoning him but who wouldn’t be? They’d been such friends, that had been obvious to anybody who had seen them together. Then Erik had paralysed him, abandoned him and taken his sister away. It was hardly surprising that Charles had been unhappy, even without ...

But this?

“Hank? Please … please don’t tell anybody.”

Would the others understand? Hank was sure they would … but Sean could be a bit suspicious about new things sometimes. And Alex was still bitter about Erik, might say stuff that he didn’t really mean that would hurt. And the Professor had asked him, so …

“All right,” he said and was rewarded with a grateful smile. When the others returned, Hank told them that the Professor had fallen from his wheelchair and hurt his wrist, not very seriously but it would be bandaged for a while. Alex promptly went into a rant about what Erik had done and Hank decided it was probably very wise not to mention anything else.

*

After that one lapse, Charles seemed the same as he always had. Neither he nor Hank mentioned what had happened to his wrist. Charles treated it himself after that initial time. Eventually he stopped wearing a bandage but he always wore long sleeves. Hank wasn’t even sure if the wound had scarred. He thought it would be rude to try and look. Charles would have talked to him about it if he wanted to. Hank supposed that ought to forget that it had ever happened. There were other things to think about anyway. Getting the mansion ready for other people to live in, working out exactly what was required for a school, finding the right people to be teachers, finding the students, working out all the necessities and requirements … life was busy enough that mostly, it did go out of Hank’s mind.

Some things were hard to forget though, no matter how long they lay dormant.

*

Hank found he was rather nervous about the new teachers and students coming to the mansion.

Alex and Sean were ridiculously confident, even enthusiastic about the whole thing. Charles seemed more reserved but from the moment the first person arrived, Hank knew that would be all right. Charles liked talking to people, was engaged and curious again, the way Hank was used to. And the students would love him, of course. How could anybody not warm up to Charles?

Whereas it would be easy to be terrified of a Beast.

He was still working on the serum, desperate to fix himself. He didn’t care what anybody said, he couldn’t _live_ like this. He didn’t want people staring at him, he didn’t want people to hate him or be afraid. He had never wanted that. But it was slow and he was terrified of getting it wrong for a second time, somehow make himself more horrible …

He would have to meet them eventually, of course.

Just … not yet.

*

“You have to come and meet them, Hank.”

Charles looked almost like his old self as he smiled up at Hank.

“They won’t be frightened of you, I promise. They’re more nervous that there’s a strange man lurking in the lab and they can’t come in here yet. Let me introduce them to you.”

“And if they are frightened?”

“Then they’ll learn not to be.”

“I just … don’t want them to stare at me.”

He didn’t think Charles could understand that. Charles had never minded being looked at – and why would he? He was normal, he was handsome and normal and almost right from the first moment in that wheelchair, he held himself with grace. He just wasn’t somebody who could ever understand what it was to dread the looks of others. He didn’t really know what it was to be a freak.

Charles touched his hand gently, stroking his fingers reassuringly through the fur. Hank wondered what he thought of it. Was he secretly repulsed? Did he think it was pleasant to touch like a pet? Hank wasn’t really sure which would be worse.

“I’ll talk to them Hank, I promise,” Charles said comfortingly. “It will be all right. They’ll have to learn, it will be good for them. Besides, they’ll need to understand for when Raven comes back.”

Hank didn’t say anything but he supposed it was a dream to hope that a telepath as strong as Charles couldn’t sense the disbelief in his mind. 

Only Charles still believed that Raven was ever coming home.

*

It was said that soulmates could read each others minds.

The evidence was inconclusive. Studies _had_ been done but there were so few soulmates around at any given time that nobody could really get a proper scientific study together. And a lot of the so called “mind reading” might just be a result of two people who were deeply linked. Just knowing what another person was likely to think at a certain time or about a certain subject didn’t make you telepathic. And to be a soulmate, it was to be connected so deeply that you _had_ to know that person well.

It would have been useless to study Charles and Erik for that, of course.

*

It was easier around the students that Hank had thought it would be. Oh, he was sure they whispered behind his back, probably even laughed but to his face, they were respectful, even friendly. Some even seemed quite impressed by his fur and strength and knowledge. It was rather strange to be called “sir” by people but he thought he could get used to it.

Charles smiled at him, practically glowing with pride. He seemed so much happier since the new students had come. Things seemed almost normal again.

*

Perhaps he ought to have known that it wouldn’t last.

Nothing good ever did, did it?

*

Sean was only supposed to be going away for two weeks, taking a trip home, a little holiday. He said goodbye so casually, waved to them from the drive and then walked out to get his cab. Hank watched him go from the windows, envying the ability to simply walk wherever he pleased. He had to sort himself out. He had to fix this serum up. It would be wonderful to go outside, to meet people again … and Sean didn’t even appreciate how lucky he was!

If he’d known it would be the last time he would look at Sean, he’d have thought about something different.

The two weeks passed and Sean didn’t come back. Charles tried to behave as though he wasn’t worried but Hank could feel a mental pressure that he knew was Charles’s anxiety, accidentally transmitted to them all.

“Maybe you should try Cerebro?” he suggested when Sean was a week late.

Charles nodded and they went down into the basement together. It had taken a long time to build Cerebro and Hank was still proud of what they’d achieved. It was beautiful and shining and wonderful and they’d managed to work that metal without needing Erik once.

Charles slipped the helmet on his head and went still as the machine hummed. Hank watched, thinking of all the times he’d seen Charles do this before, all the mutants Charles had already found simply by this, the people that they would find in the future who wouldn’t grow up alone and afraid because – 

Charles gave a strange, choked cry and clawed at the helmet. Hank stared at him, too shocked by the suddenness of it to even move.

“Get it off – get it _off_ , Hank, help me, I can’t – !”

Hank helped him tear the helmet from his head, stared at Charles’s white face. Charles was pressing his hands to his head, rocking back and forth, gasping for breath, tears in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Was there too much power?”

“I … it was so _loud_.” Charles’s voice was shaking. “I couldn’t … they were out there, there’s so many of them, I couldn’t … I couldn’t find Sean, I couldn’t find _anyone_ , just … why are they all so _sad_ , Hank?”

Hank didn’t know how to answer the question. He looked at Charles and noticed that his sleeve had slipped back. There was a scar there, a thin, pink-white line over the wrist.

The black letters spelling Erik’s name now inked their way stubbornly on top of it. Unchanged. Unmarked. Permanent.

Charles saw him looking. His mouth twisted into a sad smile.

“I should have known better,” he said. “There are some things you can’t remove, aren’t there?”

Hank couldn’t think of anything to say.

*

Sean didn’t come back. They reported him missing but somehow, Hank didn’t think they would hear any news. He told himself that Sean had just found something better, something to do and that he was too busy to call or write or … It had to be that, didn’t it? Didn’t it?

He didn’t dare ask Charles to use Cerebro again.

*

Charles’s mask didn’t really crack until Alex was called up.

He had stayed strong before that. Acted calm and reasonable about everything, reassured uneasy students. Even when some of them had been drafted, he’d stayed himself, wished them luck and hope. But now …

“You don’t have to go!”

“I kind of do,” Alex said, sounding annoyingly calm.

“You don’t! We can change it. We can - _I_ can … ”

“We’ve already lost pretty much half the students,” Alex pointed out. “Bunch of the teachers too. You know this isn’t going to last much longer, Professor. I want to do my bit. I can help people out there.”

“You’ll _die_ out there!”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll make a difference. Isn’t that what we’re wanting to do here? Make a difference?”

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment. He was looking down at his knees, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Alex’s eyes any more. Alex looked at Hank, perhaps hoping that Hank would say something. Hank didn’t. He didn’t know what to say.

“If it’s really what you want … ”

Charles’s voice was barely more than a whisper. His hands shook slightly on the arms of the chair. He didn’t seem to hear anything else that Alex said to him, just waved it away and then turned and left the room.

“You get it, right?” Alex asked, turning to Hank again.

“I … wish you weren’t leaving,” Hank said, honestly. “We’ll miss you.”

“I know. But I want to do this. I can’t stay here forever, not even for … and he’ll be all right, won’t he? The Professor, I mean. I know it’s been rough but he’s better, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” Hank said, thinking about blood running down Charles’s arm and looped letters that could never be wiped away.

*

The day they officially closed the school was the first time Hank found Charles drinking alone.

He’d stayed calm and cheerful for everybody before that. Promised that they’d reopen someday, that he would be there, that it would all be all right. But now they were gone and Charles was sitting and drinking steadily, looking at nothing.

“Professor?”

“Don’t call me that,” he ordered, not looking around. “I’m not a professor of anything any more, am I?”

Hank wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t think of how to react that would be right. He hadn’t seen Charles quite this way before.

“Can … can I get you anything?”

“No.”

Charles continued the quiet drinking. Hank found himself a book and pretended to read, not willing to leave Charles on his own. He supposed that Charles had to know that he was only there to watch him – but Charles didn’t say anything.

After a while, he looked up and saw that Charles had fallen asleep at the table, hand still curled around the empty glass. Hank lifted him up carefully, trying not to disturb him and carried him up to his bedroom, laying him gently on the bed. Charles murmured something insensible and clutched at him, fingers twining in Hank’s fur. Hank stayed still for a moment, then gently tugged away. Charles moaned and curled up on himself, hugging his knees close to his chest. He looked strangely small and lost, lying there. Hank carefully tucked a blanket around him, then left the room, telling himself that everything would be fine in the morning.

*

When he came down for breakfast, Charles was taking painkillers with what looked like vodka. Hank pretended not to see.

At least Charles was more cheerful that day.

*

The mansion was horribly quiet with just the two of them there. Hank kept listening for noises and wondering why there weren’t any. He knew that Charles was feeling it too, even though Charles seemed to be trying to pretend he was completely fine.

Hank might have even believed it if he had felt sudden bursts of psychic misery on a regular basis. He didn’t think that Charles meant to broadcast them but they came just the same, sometimes so abruptly that they made Hank double over with pain.

It would get better with time, he was sure. It was just the surprise of it all. Charles had improved after what had happened in Cuba. He’d improve again.

*

Two days after that, they received the first telegram letting them know about the death of one of the students.

That was the second – or perhaps third – time that Hank found Charles drinking alone.

“Just leave me alone,” he muttered when Hank nervously suggested he might have had enough for one night. “It’s fine. What does it matter anyway?”

He was scratching his wrist as he spoke, picking at Erik’s name with his fingernails. Hank didn’t quite dare reach out to stop him, until he saw specks of blood. Charles looked surprised when Hank caught hold of his arm.

“I hadn’t noticed,” was all he said.

*

People said that soulmates could feel when the other is in pain.

There were lots of anecdotal stories about that. People who had known something terrible had happened to their soulmate, no matter how far away they were. People talking about sudden agonising pain in their joints, only to discover their soulmate had broken that exact bone. There were even stories that men had felt their soulmate wife’s labour pains. None of it was provable but there were so many tales that people mostly believed it.

Hank didn’t think that could possibly be true. If Erik could feel Charles’s pain, he would never have done anything to cause so much of it.

*

It wasn’t long after that that Hank finally had a working serum.

He didn’t really believe that he’d done it at first. He stared at himself in the mirror, reaching up with shaking hands to touch _normal_ skin, _normal_ hair. He felt cold and thin and slightly unbalanced on his thinner legs but he looked human again. He’d done it. He’d _done_ it!

He’d need more, of course. He knew that it wasn’t going to be a permanent solution. But with a little more time, he could perhaps change that, he could make it better, he could perfect it. 

He’d almost forgotten what his face looked like. What his eyes looked like.

He went to Charles, wanting to share his joy, wanting to celebrate. He was sure that Charles would be thrilled for him. After all, Charles had known just how much he wanted to fix himself, had even helped sometimes. It would be an added cherry on the cake to see Charles smile.

Charles _did_ smile. He smiled and tell Hank how wonderful it was. But not once did the smile seem to reach his eyes. He shook Hank’s hand, praised him but it all seemed cold, somehow. Empty. Hank tried to hide his hurt and confusion and if Charles picked it up from his mind, he didn’t say anything about it. He just suggested they had a drink to celebrate and Hank agreed. Anything would be better than this strange awkwardness.

They drank in relative silence, Charles far more quickly than Hank. Hank had reached a stage of faintly pleasant light-headedness when Charles suddenly spoke, his voice rough.

“So when will you be leaving?”

Hank stared at him, trying to catch up with the question. He knew _what_ Charles had asked, he just couldn’t quite believe it. Charles stared back, his eyes cold, hands shaking very slightly.

“What?” Hank managed at last, knowing he needed to say _something_ but unable to find anything more intelligent than that.

“When will you be leaving?” Charles repeated flatly.

Hank thought he was going to throw up. This wasn’t how he’d pictured any of this at all. Why was Charles being this way? He’d thought this would be a celebration, he thought it would be so exciting and now, now … now Charles wanted him to go? Why did Charles want him to go? Or had he misunderstood something but what, he didn’t know what and he couldn’t think …

“I … why … I don’t understand … ”

He sounded pathetic. Perhaps that was it, Charles was just sick of him. Who wouldn’t be? He was pathetic. Everybody knew he was pathetic. 

“You don’t want to leave?” Charles sounded sceptical. Hank looked at him, at the strangely cold, emotionless face and felt a burst of emotion too strong to name.

“Of course I don’t want to leave! This is my _home_ , isn’t it? You said … I thought … where would I even go?”

The coldness on Charles’s face seemed to crack. He stared at Hank, apparently bewildered.

“You … you don’t want to leave?” he said again, his voice trembling.

“Why would I want to leave?” Hank asked and he was shouting now, standing up, suddenly furious. He felt the beast part of him surge inside him, as though it was fighting the serum he’d put in his body, his skin was prickling and his teeth felt too big in his mouth, no, no, this couldn’t happen …

“Everyone else did!”

Hank’s anger faded as quickly as it had come and with it, so did the beast. He stared at Charles and Charles stared back, his face wretched, shaking slightly.

“Everyone’s _gone_ , Hank. They’ve gone and I’m all alone here and I … I thought you’d want to go too and I … I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so … I just don’t want to be alone!” 

He put his head in his hands and after a moment, Hank moved to his side and touched his shoulder. Charles was shaking and Hank wasn’t sure if he was crying or not. He crouched down and touched one of Charles’s hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, trying to reinforce it with his mind. “I’m not going _anywhere_. I promise.”

Charles moved and Hank found himself pulled into an awkward hug. He stroked Charles’s hair and the back of his neck as Charles clung to him, still trying to project the idea that he wasn’t leaving, he would never, ever leave as long as Charles needed or wanted him …

“Do you mean that?”

Charles had obviously heard his thoughts.

“Yes.”

Charles gave an odd sort of sigh. He pressed his face into Hank’s neck and perhaps if Hank hadn’t been drinking it wouldn’t have occurred to him but suddenly he was all too aware of how warm Charles felt; warm and soft and how his mouth moving just a little against Hank’s skin …

Charles gave a tiny moan and he realised that Charles was probably still in his mind, in his mind and picking up all sorts of thoughts and he tried to pull away but Charles clutched and said “No, please … ” and his voice was so pleading that there was no resisting it so he didn’t try to move again. Charles loosened his grip but only to stroke his fingers through Hank’s hair.

“Stop me if you don’t want this.”

Then his mouth was on Hank’s; soft and careful and tentative and Hank was trying not to shake because oh, oh, Charles was kissing him and he _did_ want, he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted more and Charles felt so good and what if Charles wanted to stop? He really didn’t want Charles to want to stop, he wanted this so much …

_I won’t want to stop._

Charles’s mental voice was soothing and he kissed a little harder as he spoke, still stroking Hank’s hair and neck and moving up to run his fingers over Hank’s cheek. Hank returned the gestures uncertainly, hoping he was doing it right. He’d barely even kissed anybody before, let alone … anything else …

_Then I’ll show you. If you want._

_Yes_ he thought as fiercely as he could and was rewarded with a smile against his lips.

_Hank, I think I would very much like it if you took me to bed now_.

Hank automatically tried to pick Charles up, then realised that in his new form, that was going to be far harder than previously. He nearly fell over and started apologising but Charles just laughed and nuzzled his neck.

“Try it a little slower,” he murmured. “Here, let me help … ”

With Charles using his weight to balance them better, Hank managed to stand, Charles in his arms. His own room was closer so he took Charles there, trying not to get distracted by Charles kissing his neck and touching his shoulders. Hank was only too glad to drop him on the bed and then settle next to him to get back to the kissing.

They kissed for a long time before anything else happened. Kissed and lay close together, enjoying the feel of each others bodies. Charles seemed to be enjoying things slow and gentle, didn’t really ask for anything except Hank’s hands and mouth and closeness. Hank was quite happy with this. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything so wonderful in his life.

At some point, he fell asleep and when he woke up, he was a monster again and Charles was curled up against him, tucked up in his arms. When Hank tried to move, Charles clutched at him with a small murmur, nuzzling closer and rubbing his cheek against the fur. Hank felt a drowsy touch in his mind, a faint, half-worded idea that Charles was comfortable and content and Hank should stay.

It was the first time he’d ever considered the idea that his strange body might not be all bad.

*

Not all soulmates were lovers. At least, that was what people said. Perhaps they lived together, spent their lives together but they weren’t necessarily lovers, were they? Men and men, women and women … they were just bonded together, marked by something nobody understood but it didn’t mean they were doing anything. They were just closer than “normal” people were because their souls were forever linked.

At least, that was the argument.

Hank didn’t have to ask. You didn’t need to ask that when it came to Charles and Erik.

*

Charles didn’t ask to share his bed again and Hank didn’t quite dare mention it himself. Perhaps he had been wrong about his blue body not being repulsive. Perhaps Charles hadn’t really enjoyed it. Perhaps it had just made Charles realise how much he missed being with someone like Erik.

He hated that last thought most of all.

*

He was able to go out now that he could consistently look human. He invited Charles every time he left but Charles never said yes. At first he had excuses but gradually, he stopped offering them. He simply didn’t want to leave the house. Sometimes, Hank awkwardly tried to persuade him but the looks Charles tended to give him when he tried were nerve-wracking so Hank stopped. He just accepted Charles’s shopping lists and got him whatever he wanted.

The sleeping pills concerned him more than the alcohol and the cigarettes did.

*

It only followed that if soulmates could sense each others pain, they could sense each others distress. Again, it was all anecdotal, of course. Soulmates speaking of knowing when their other half was frightened or angry or in trouble. Just “sensing” the others strong emotion and extrapolating. There were even stories of them saving each others lives because of it, dropping everything to rush to the soulmates side.

Hank wondered if some of Charles’s reluctance to leave the house was a simple fear that he could not. A link to Erik’s mind, trapped in a bleak little cell somewhere, unable to escape. Did Charles feel that imprisonment too?

He knew he’d never dare ask.

*

The sleeping pills didn’t stop Charles’s nightmares. They didn’t seem to help him sleep very much either. Hank started to find him slumped in random places, dozing uneasily, only to twitch rapidly awake, sometimes gasping or moaning with some sort of pain.

He wouldn’t tell Hank what the nightmares were about.

Hank suspected that he didn’t want to know.

*

When Charles hadn’t got out of bed by two in the afternoon, Hank went to check on him.

He hadn’t been in Charles’s room for a very long time. The last time he’d been in there, he remembered it as a neat, organised sort of place, very like Charles himself.

Now it was dark and messy. It seemed like every outfit Charles had ever worn was on the floor, along with empty bottles and over-flowing ashtrays. It smelt terrible; a mix of ash and sweat and other things that Hank didn’t want to think about too much. The only tidy places were clearly tracks where Charles moved in his wheelchair.

Charles was on the bed, murmuring to himself. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing yesterday, wrinkled and stained. When Hank touched his shoulder, he jerked away and glared up at Hank.

“What the hell do you want?!”

“It’s … it’s the afternoon,” Hank stammered, feeling himself blush. “It … I thought … ”

“Oh, go away!” Charles snapped. “I was _sleeping_ , Hank!”

His voice was slightly slurred. Hank wondered if it was just from being woken suddenly, pills or alcohol. Or a mixture of all three.

“You … you shouldn’t let your sleeping habits become abnormal. It’s important to try and stay regular, sleep at night and get up in the day … ”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion!”

He’d never heard Charles sound so angry before. Without thinking, Hank took a step back and nearly fell over a pile of clothes. With a small sigh, he bent down to pick them up, thinking that it couldn’t be good for Charles to be living in this sort of atmosphere.

“Leave it alone!”

“I just … please let me … ”

“I said _get out!_ ”

Something hit him hard on the small of his back. Unprepared, Hank fell, only just catching himself, gasping for breath. He could feel the beast in him roaring, saw his hands beginning to turn blue, twisted around to see just what had attacked him – and saw Charles with his hand still outstretched.

A bottle. Charles had thrown a bottle at him.

His anger vanished and the beast vanished too. He crouched on the floor, staring up at Charles in hurt disbelief. His back was throbbing where the bottle had hit him and he felt sick. Charles was staring at him, his mouth slightly open, as though he couldn’t believe what had happened either.

“Hank, I … ”

Hank scrambled to his feet and ran. He couldn’t speak to Charles right now. He just couldn’t. He ran and ran, not really trying to get anywhere except _away_. 

He stopped outside in the end, sat on the grass and hugged his knees. Everything was getting overgrown and tangled. When had they last had a gardener in? He couldn’t remember. He should have stayed on top of things more, he should have helped Charles, he should have _done_ something …

His back throbbed where the bottle had hit it. He knew he ought to go and check it out, see how bad the bruise was but he couldn’t bear the idea of going back into the house yet. Didn’t want to risk running into Charles.

He might have stayed out all day if it hadn’t started to rain. Even then, he stayed there for a while, letting the rain soak his hair and skin until it finally became unbearable. He walked slowly back to the house and to his room, removing his shirt and looking at the red mark on his back. It wasn’t so bad. It would just be a bruise.

But it wasn’t the point. 

He was just finishing getting changed when he heard a small knock on the door.

Well. He’d have to face Charles some time.

“Come in.”

Charles came in. He looked red-eyed and dishevelled and was trembling slightly. He didn’t meet Hank’s eyes.

“I am so sorry, Hank.”

Hank nodded. He didn’t know what to say. He _knew_ Charles was sorry. He could accept that. He just wanted … he didn’t know what he wanted. 

“You should leave.” Charles’s voice was flat.

“What?!”

Charles looked at him, clenching his fists on his lap.

“You should leave, Hank. I can’t … I _hurt_ you. I always swore that I’d never … my stepfather used to hurt my mother and I _hated_ him for that, I always promised I would never be that man and I just … do you know how much worse I could be? Do you know what I could do to you?”

“I … you wouldn’t … ”

“Wouldn’t I?” Charles rubbed his face. “I’m sure a day ago, you’d have sworn I’d never lay a hand on you. Never throw something at your back!”

Hank didn’t answer. He knew it was true. He still couldn’t quite believe that it had happened, even now with his back hurting and Charles in front of him, wracked with guilt.

“I don’t even know myself any more, Hank,” Charles said, his voice shaking. “I don’t trust myself. I can’t … I don’t know what’s happening to me! I’m losing myself, I’m turning into a monster! I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to be this person, I don’t want this!”

“Okay,” Hank said. “Okay, then we’ll fix it, we’ll – ”

“You can’t _fix_ it! Hank, do you know how long it’s been since I last had a full night’s sleep? Nothing I do helps, I’ve drunk myself into a coma, I’ve drank and smoked and taken anything I can get my hands on and it doesn’t _work!_ I can still hear them, Hank! I can hear them all the time, hear them screaming and shouting and feel their pain and I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it any more! They all _hurt_ and I can’t stop it, I can’t help them, I can’t even help myself and I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!”

He was rocking back and forth, reaching up to clutch at his hair. Hank could see tears in his eyes. He moved closer, not sure what to do and Charles looked at him again.

“I can’t find anybody, Hank. I can’t find any hope, any joy, anything. It’s just pain, pain all the time, there’s _nothing_ and I can’t find Raven or Sean or Alex or – ”

He stopped but Hank knew exactly who he was thinking of. It hurt but he pushed it away. Charles was rubbing his face again, smearing his tears over his face.

“I just can’t stand it. I can’t stand who I am becoming, I can’t stand … I wish I was dead, Hank, I do, I really – ”

“ _No!_ ”

He dropped to his knees at Charles’s side, grabbed his wrists. Charles stared at him and Hank shook his head.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “Please don’t say that, don’t … I couldn’t bear it, I … please, Charles, we can work with this, I can help you, just let me help you!”

“How?” Charles asked. “There’s nothing that you can do, Hank.”

“I will think of something,” Hank said. “I _will_ Charles. I’ll … just tell me what you need, I can do it, I can … you know I can … ”

“Oh, Hank.”

Charles put his arms around his shoulders and pressed his face into Hank’s neck. Hank hugged him back, his mind churning. He would think of something, he _would_. There had to be a solution to this despair. Could he make a better sleeping pill, perhaps? It would be hard but it wasn’t impossible. He’d think of something, he would … even if it was something simple, just something …

“What if I could help you walk? Would that help? Getting you out of the chair?”

“I’m sure it would help,” Charles said, sounding sceptical. “How?”

“I could alter the serum I use on myself,” Hank said slowly. His mind was beginning to spin with possibility, running through the different things that he could do. “It won’t necessarily be that hard. I’ll have to work out the details, I can’t just give you what I use but it might work … ”

“If you want,” Charles said. He didn’t sound very excited but Hank was determined now. He just _knew_ it would help, even if Charles didn’t think so right now. Charles would feel better about himself, he’d be more likely to go out, he’d feel more _alive_. It wouldn’t fix everything but it would be a start. It would be a start and Hank would be the one who did it.

!Just let me help you,” he said, trying to project nothing but hope and positivity. “Just … just let me. Please.”

Charles gave a soft sigh and nodded his head. Hank stroked his hair gently, filled with sudden and furious purpose.

He was _not_ going to fail.

*

That night, he let himself become his beast-self and got into bed with Charles, holding him close. Charles burrowed into his fur and Hank stroked his back and his hair and hummed until Charles slept uneasily in his arms. Each time Charles woke up, Hank stirred too, petting and murmuring until Charles relaxed again. It wasn’t much but it was a little and a little was better than nothing.

They carried on doing that every night while Hank worked on the new serum. 

*

He was extremely nervous about giving Charles the serum he had created.

He was almost positive that it would work. Almost. 99% positive. But he couldn’t help remembering the terror he’d felt when he’d done this to himself, when he’d got it wrong. When he’d created the Beast.

But he knew what he was doing now, he was sure. He was better at this, he was more skilled. He wasn’t going to ruin anything, he wasn’t going to hurt Charles … and possibly, he was going to help him.

Charles didn’t seem too worried. He held out his arm without question and watched impassively as Hank injected the liquid. Hank stood back, trying not to look anxious.

“Just make sure you give yourself a moment. It’ll be hard to walk at first, your legs haven’t been used for a long while, we’ll have to build up but we should know if it worked … ”

Charles looked puzzled, as though the idea was foreign to him. Hank wondered if he ought to explain it but then Charles put his fingers up to his temple in a gesture Hank hadn’t seen for a long while.

“Um … are you all right?”

Charles looked at him, his eyes growing wide.

“I … think something.”

“What?”

“ _Think_ something, Hank! Anything! Try to project a thought to me!”

Hank tried but as all he could think were anxious worries that he had done something terrible, he wasn’t sure that it would have meant very much. Not that it mattered. Charles’s face slowly broke into a smile.

“I can’t hear them,” he said. “ _I can’t hear them!_ ”

“My thoughts?” Hank said. “You can’t hear my thoughts?”

“I can’t hear _any_ thoughts! I can’t … it’s turned off, it’s completely … oh my God, oh my God!”

He pushed himself up slowly, staggered forward. His legs were shaking, as Hank had expected, but it was clear that they were working again. He reached out, grabbed Charles’s arms to steady him.

“I can refine it,” he said. “I can change it, we can work on it, I can probably give you your legs and your telepathy – ”

“Are you mad?” Charles demanded, laughing. “This is _perfect!_ Hank, it’s wonderful, it’s the most … it’s so _quiet_ , I finally can’t hear them, I’m finally _free!_ ”

He stumbled and Hank caught him, holding him tight. Charles just laughed and then he kissed Hank on the lips, hands coming up to clutch at Hank’s face. Hank held on dizzily, kissing back while trying to think. He wasn’t sure this was such a good thing, any of it really, it didn’t seem wise to cut Charles off from his powers like that and surely Charles wouldn’t really want it?

But Charles kept kissing and touching him, pushing him back to the couch and Hank found it increasingly hard to think of anything except Charles and Charles’s mouth and hands and the sounds he was making and oh God, yes …

It was over quickly for both of them, perhaps because of the suddenness of it. They lay entwined on the couch, clinging together, panting for air. 

“Thank you,” Charles kept whispering against Hank’s skin.” Thank you, thank you, oh, Hank, thank you … ”

Hank closed his eyes, sleepy and content. Charles was so _happy_ and that was what he had wanted, right? He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? 

*

Charles woke up crying in the night. The serum had worn off.

“Please Hank, please, I can’t bear it, I really, I just … it’s too loud, I need to sleep, please?”

Hank fetched him another dose. He made it lighter, thinking that it wasn’t so important for Charles to need his legs in the night, he just needed to sleep. Charles shivered and settled, reaching out for him as he did.

“Stay with me, Hank?”

Hank stayed.

*

The next weeks were spent getting Charles walking properly again. It took more time than Hank had expected but Charles didn’t seem to mind. He seemed almost his old self, laughing and teasing, apparently enjoying himself, even when he fell. It was wonderful to see him so happy again.

He was still drinking though.

Hank wasn’t sure if he should do something about that or not.

*

They shared a bed almost all the time now. Not always sexually, just … to be there. Sometimes Charles would turn to him, kiss and nuzzle and wrap his legs around Hank’s waist and Hank liked that, he liked how it felt and what Charles did and he’d never imagined it would feel so good to be inside someone else … or to have them be inside you.

He had to be careful though. More than once as Charles kissed him, he found the Beast rearing up inside him, surging violently and it was hard, it was hard to hold it back when Charles was moving against him, murmuring and touching. Once he had actually transformed, turned into a monster, almost squashed Charles beneath him and it had been so hard to stop himself from just carrying on because he wanted so much. It had been horrific but Charles had just murmured and stroked his cheek and helped him calm down until he was himself again. After that, he took to taking another dose before bed and that helped him keep control if he and Charles had sex.

It was strange though, he often found that what he liked most was afterwards, when Charles curled against him, arms around him. He liked to be held. He liked to hold. He liked that feeling of closeness, knowing Charles was right there and safe and that therefore, he was safe too.

And although he would never have told, he found that sometimes, he missed the dreamy, slowness of the first time between then. When they’d just held each other close and kissed and petted and – 

But this was good too.

This was more than good.

*

Although nobody ever talked about it, Hank thought it only logical that if soulmates felt each others pain and distress, they ought to feel each others joy too.

After all, joy and pleasure could be just as strong – if not stronger – than pain and misery. And being someone’s soulmate was meant to be a glorious thing. Surely therefore, the bond would reverberate even more to good feelings, to pleasure and love and simple happiness.

Hank wasn’t sure if he wanted that to be true or not. A part of him felt that Erik didn’t deserve to sense anything good ever again, he didn’t deserve to feel Charles’s pleasure.

A crueller part hoped that Erik _could_ feel it. That Erik felt a touch of happiness every time Charles was happy, that Erik knew that Charles was all right without him, that Charles did not need Erik and that Erik had lost _everything_.

He knew it was cruel. 

But the thoughts persisted all the same.

And now that Charles was no longer reading his mind, it didn’t seem to matter so much anyway.

*

Ridiculous as it seemed, he somehow didn’t really notice that they were on a downward spiral.

Looking back, Hank couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. How could he not see that Charles was taking more and more of the serum? How could he not have noticed that Charles continued to drink far more than was good for him, far more than could ever be healthy? Why didn’t he think that Charles’s continued refusal to leave the mansion was a mistake and rectify it?

Because it was slow, he supposed. Slow and gradual and he was already so used to so much of it that it didn’t seem so bad until he suddenly realised that they were in almost the same place as they had been when he had created Charles’s serum for him. The only differences were that Charles could walk and he no longer woke sobbing from the pain of too many thoughts.

Hank told himself those differences were major. That Charles _was_ happier, that he wasn’t longing for things to stop in the same way that he had before. That they had options, that he could make this work …

But a part of him was beginning to lose interest. He felt as though they were running on the spot, that there was nowhere to go any more. What was the point? They were alive, weren’t they? They were alive and if not happy, well, sometimes they were happy enough. He had his lab, he could do anything he wanted in there. He was so _tired_ of trying to change things. It was easier just to rest and let things be as they were.

He had Charles. Charles had him. He was tired of thinking about anything else but that. It was easier to simply _be_.

*

And then Logan came.

*

It was up to Hank to find Erik some clothes to wear, given that the things he had in prison were clearly not suitable to the outside world at all. He managed to control the urge to get him clothes that wouldn’t fit or be comfortable. What Logan had said clearly mattered and he wanted to save Raven just as much as Charles did.

He just wished they didn’t have to work with Erik to do it.

Erik looked frustratingly well-kempt for someone who had been in prison for so long. In fact, Hank felt he looked a lot like he’d always looked. Hank hated it. He hated that Erik seemed to be all right when he knew Charles was so very much … not.

As Erik reached out for the clothes, his sleeve moved up. Hank couldn’t help looking at his wrist, seeing the black letters that looped there. They were black and clear against Erik’s pale skin and seeing them made Hank feel sick.

When he dragged his gaze away, Erik was looking at him. There was the slightest hint of a smirk on his face that Hank didn’t like at all. 

“You appear to have been taking care of Charles very badly,” was all he said.

Hank walked away. He walked away because if he didn’t, he knew he would explode and they couldn’t afford that right now. He had to fly a plane and stay calm and focused. He couldn’t let Erik get into his head. He couldn’t let the Beast get into his head.

He couldn’t afford to feel.

*

Charles and Erik fought each other. Then they ignored each other. Then they played chess. Then they had sex.

Hank hadn’t minded the first three activities (well, the fighting had been unpleasant, given that Erik had the ability to crash the plane.) But glancing behind him, seeing Logan asleep and the rest of the plane empty and suddenly realising where they had to be and what that meant they were doing … he thought he might have thrown up, except for the knowledge that he would have to do that here because the bathroom was occupied.

It _hurt_. It was stupid that it hurt because really, hadn’t he always known it would be this way if Erik were in the picture? Hell, if Erik hadn’t gone _out_ of the picture, things would never have changed between him and Charles. Charles and Erik would have been in love and together and content for their whole lives and Hank would just have been Hank and never anything different.

And why expect a miracle? Charles and Erik were _made_ for each other – wasn’t that what being a soulmate meant? How could Hank have been stupid enough to even imagine for a second that Erik’s return would result in anything less than this? Hadn’t he always told himself that Charles didn’t love him? Why did it hurt when he already knew that?

But it _did_ hurt. It hurt so much to picture them pressed together, kissing and touching, Charles wrapping his legs around Erik the way he had done around Hank … and Erik could give him more because Hank always had to hold back, always had to keep the beast in check and Erik could do what he wanted and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that Erik had that when Hank –

_You appear to have taken care of Charles very badly._

He had tried. He had tried so hard …

He was meshed in these miserable thoughts when Logan stirred and got up, rubbing his eyes and turning towards the back of the plane with purpose.

“I really wouldn’t,” Hank told him, pleased that his voice barely shook at all. “I’d … give them privacy for a bit longer.”

Logan stared at him, then scowled.

“They’re fucking, aren’t they?”

Hank made a noise of agreement.

“Damn. I really need a piss too.”

He came up to sit next to Hank instead. Hank didn’t look at him. He didn’t really want to talk. A part of him was curious about this future that Logan was aiming to change, another part didn’t want to know anything. There were too many awful realities that he might have to face.

“You know something?” Logan said abruptly. “Those two being soulmates is the biggest proof I ever saw that life is some weird, cosmic joke.”

Hank managed a small laugh. He was aware Logan was looking at him and wondered exactly what the man knew. He’d said they were friends in the future. Had Hank ever confided in him? Had Charles? After all, Logan had said he knew Charles too …

“You know they’re soulmates then?” he asked.

“Yeah. Known the Prof a long time. He wasn’t really hiding it, although he didn’t talk about it very much. Can’t have been all that great, knowing your soulmate was trying to kill you.”

So Erik hadn’t improved. God, he hated Erik sometimes, hated him with every part of his being. He could have _everything_ and instead he just wanted … what?

Not to be hurt, perhaps?

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Erik wanted so badly not to be hurt ever again that he couldn’t really let himself think of anything else.

He didn’t want to be sorry for Erik.

“You want some free advice, kid?”

“Why not?” Hank said because really, anything was better than thinking.

“You want something, you have to fight for it.”

Logan was busy lighting a cigar as he spoke, apparently more concerned with that than looking at Hank.

“That soulmate thing? Doesn’t mean as much as people would like it to mean. You think there’s only one person in the world that can make you _truly_ happy? Bullshit. Maybe there’s some people you’re more connected to, maybe not but if you think you can make a go of something, don’t let the lack of some nature-ordained words on your arm make difference. Just go for it and fight for it.”

Hank didn’t say anything. His throat felt swollen up and he was terrified that he might break down. When had he last cried? He couldn’t remember. Years, he supposed, years and he didn’t want this to be the moment he broke, he couldn’t break because if he broke …

“Of course,” Logan added, looking at his cigar again. “I might just be saying that because I really hate that bastard and think the Prof could do better with pretty much anybody else. But don’t quote me on that.”

And that was okay because Hank was able to laugh again and shake his head and Logan grinned at him. And Hank was able to think about something else for a while and relax and even smile a little when Logan finally lost patience and went down to yell at the bathroom door that Christ, how much more fucking could they even need to _do_ in there?

He made sure he didn’t look like he’d heard though. He didn’t for a single moment want Charles to know for sure that he knew.

*

Then Erik ruined everything. Again.

Charles didn’t speak a word on the plane home. He sat and he stared at where Erik had sat only hours before, his eyes wide and blank with misery. When Hank tried to speak to him, he flinched away, as though Hank was an unbearable distraction from something in his mind.

Hank didn’t think there was anybody in the world he hated quite so much as Erik Lehnsherr.

*

Except, in a strange way, Logan. Because somehow, Logan managed to put the pieces back together in a way that Hank himself had never been able to. And stupid and childish and pathetic as it was, he couldn’t help resenting the fact that everything he’d tried to do had been a failure and Logan had only needed a few days to break into the walls around Charles’s mind and bring him home.

*

Charles wasn’t so badly hurt after the stadium – something Hank considered a minor miracle, really. The awful moment of kneeling beside him, of being fully human and unable to even try to help … it still made him want to throw up, even now.

But Charles was free now, free and hurt but not badly, nothing that some strong painkillers and rest wouldn’t help. And they were back in the mansion and Hank felt nothing but relief as he carefully helped the distinctly hazy Charles into bed.

“Hank?” Charles’s voice was slurred with drowsiness and drugs.

“Hmm?”

“Sorry … so sorry … ‘bout Erik.”

“Don’t,” he said, more sharply than he’d meant to. Charles stared at him, seemingly trying to force himself into focusing. Hank swallowed and tried to think more quietly.

“Tomorrow, Charles. Tomorrow, all right?”

Charles nodded and settled down, closing his eyes. Hank left the room, wondering exactly what he was going to say when Charles apologised again. What he was going to do. 

What was going to happen now?

*

He found it almost impossible to sleep and so was in the lab when he suddenly felt the familiar yet almost forgotten touch of Charles’s mind in his.

_Hank?_

He knew what Charles wanted and didn’t bother to respond, just put down what he was doing and walked to Charles’s room. Charles was sitting up, his face pale but set. He smiled at Hank and Hank smiled back, feeling strangely uneasy.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“I … I think I’d rather talk. We … I think there’s a lot to talk about.”

Hank found himself staring at his feet. He heard Charles swallow.

“Hank, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I apologised to you while half out of my mind on painkillers, you deserve better than that. I’m sorry that I have let you down so badly, over and over. I’m sorry I used you. And I am so, so sorry about Erik.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Hank said. “I knew … I should have known … you’re his soulmate … ”

“ _No_.” Charles sounded almost angry. “That’s not an excuse, Hank! This name on my arm doesn’t take away my will when I’m around Erik. I knew what I was doing and I did it anyway and it was _wrong_. You deserve better than that and I should have given you better.”

Hank didn’t know what to say. He felt oddly disconnected from the conversation. Surely he ought to be overjoyed that Charles was apologising, ought to be happy but he just felt numb, as though the conversation had nothing to do with him. He felt … sick.

“You really don’t need to apologise,” he said, wondering if it would be better if the conversation was over. “Everything I did was my choice.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t apologise for my part,” Charles said stubbornly. “Hank, you have been … more than I deserve over these past years. I know how much I owe you, I know that I … I can’t ask for forgiveness but … I want you to know that things will be different now.”

Hank couldn’t imagine it. The knowledge that things were changing again felt too big. Too immense. Things kept changing and not changing and he was so _tired_ and he’d been tired for so very, very long …

_Hank?_

Charles’s voice was soft in his mind. Hank felt a touch and automatically tried to shrink back, trying to shield his thoughts. He didn’t want to hurt Charles, he needed to think of nothing so Charles wouldn’t hurt …

_You don’t have to do that now, Hank. You don’t have to conceal anything from me. Let me in. Please Hank, let me in._

The request was only that, a request. And yet Hank suddenly couldn’t fight it. He opened his mind and let Charles feel it, feel the pain and anxiety and flat-out _exhaustion_. Charles gave a small gasp but his mind stayed in Hank’s, feeling and experiencing everything that Hank was throwing at him. Only now he’d started, Hank found he couldn’t stop, it was going on and on and on, everything, he’d been so _tired …_

_Oh my poor Hank …_

He felt a gentle tug and so he came, stumbling to the bed and sinking down onto it at Charles’s side. Charles’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close and Hank felt the dam burst. Pressing his face into Charles’s shoulder, he cried and cried while Charles rocked him and stroked his hair and told him over and over that it was all going to be all right.

*

He didn’t remember the next few weeks very clearly.

It was as though all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and when he was awake, just lie in bed and not really think about anything. He just felt so tired and it was so much easier to be like this. He couldn’t even be bothered to inject himself with serum and didn’t mind very much when he woke up and found himself blue and hairy again.

Charles took care of him. Hank’s clearest memory was that Charles was almost always there, reading quietly to himself or sometimes to Hank, holding Hank’s hand, bringing him food or drink or anything else that Hank asked for. When Hank was anxious, he would feel a soft presence in his mind, promising that everything all right with a touch that was warm and easy to believe.

Slowly, he started to feel healthy again. Able to get out of bed for more than just bathroom trips, able to go and find food for himself when he was hungry as opposed to waiting. He was rather surprised by the suddenness of his breakdown but Charles wasn’t at all.

“Too much pressure for too long,” he said when Hank mentioned it. “Don’t worry about it, Hank. Just let yourself get better. It’s my turn to look after you now, my friend.”

He stroked Hank’s arm gently and Hank closed his eyes, liking the touch. When Charles drew away, he felt a pang.

They hadn’t talked about any of the things Charles had apologised to him about. They hadn’t heard anything from Erik or Raven. And they hadn’t shared a bed since returning from Washington. 

Hank wasn’t really sure how he felt about any of those things.

*

When he was feeling better again, the first thing he and Charles started to discuss was how to start the school again. Hank was quite willing to throw himself into that, although it meant he had to ponder one thing that he had been wanting to avoid.

His appearance.

He hadn’t taken the serum again yet. He didn’t really want to remind Charles that it existed. So far, Charles had done very well, not even mentioned it but Hank knew it had to be a temptation for him. Charles had been walking for years and he’d been using the serum far more than Hank had. There had to be some physical withdrawal symptoms. But Charles hadn’t mentioned them – hadn’t mentioned the serum at all, in fact. Hank hoped it was a good sign but he wasn’t sure. He found himself automatically watching Charles, trying to see how Charles was, if Charles was doing anything he shouldn’t, then tried to stop himself. He didn’t have to do that any more. Charles had promised and Hank believed him.

That knowledge wasn’t helping him make a decision though.

He thought about the horror of having everyone see him as he really was.

He thought about Raven telling him “Mutant and proud.”

He thought about the nights where Charles had cuddled up to him in that other form, the times Charles had stroked his fur and smiled and said “It’s all right, Hank.” as though it really had been.

He thought about how useful it had been when fighting the sentinel. How awful it had been afterwards when he couldn’t get Charles out from the wreckage.

How he didn’t want to be helpless.

*

He missed sharing Charles’s bed.

He felt embarrassed about that, although he wasn’t quite sure why. He missed Charles’s warmth and his smell and the simple knowledge that there was somebody there. His bed felt so small without Charles in it. It didn’t even smell of him any more.

As though what they had shared had never been.

*

“Hank?”

He looked at Charles and Charles smiled at him. They’d been busy that day, cleaning and preparing. Charles had started looking for students again, working on hiring teachers. It wouldn’t be long before the mansion was full of noise again and Hank found that despite his nerves, he was actually looking forward to it. It wouldn’t be so bad having people around again. Making a difference.

“Hank, I … I wonder if you’d … ”

Charles sounded uncertain and looked as though he were blushing. Hank blinked at him, not sure if he ought to push or wait. Charles rubbed his fingers together and looked shy.

“You can say no, but … would you like to come to bed with me tonight?”

Hank stared at him, not quite believing the question. Charles blushed more and looked away.

“I … it’s just … but only if you want … ”

“If _I_ want?” he blurted. “Why would _you_ want?”

“Because I care about you,” Charles said simply. “Because being with you … makes me happy. Because I miss what we had and I would … I would like to try again.”

Hank stared at him. He didn’t know what to say. Charles was looking at him and Hank didn’t know how to read the look on his face..

“Do you want me to use my serum?”

“Only if you want to,” Charles said with a small shrug. “That’s your choice, Hank.”

“So … you don’t want sex?”

“What do you mean by sex?” Charles asked, smiling slightly. “There are things that I … would find uncomfortable now that I didn’t before, I think. My body is different now and I have to accept that. But I’d like to hold you again more than anything else. If that leads to more, well, I think that would be wonderful but we can take it as slowly as you want.”

“But I can’t … just _look_ at me, how can you even talk about that?”

“I don’t care, Hank. The part of you I love is your mind and your heart. The outside is simply aesthetic. I know it doesn’t feel like that to you but to me … I miss you.”

Hank didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. He wanted to believe that so much, so very much and yet it was so hard because he knew that he wasn’t human, he couldn’t forget that. He wasn’t human and he wasn’t Erik so how could it ever work?

But when Charles reached out an uncertain hand, he took it because through everything, he remembered how good it had felt to be with Charles, to be in his arms and he wanted that.

They went to bed, curled up safely in each others arms. Charles kissed him before they went to sleep. He didn’t seem worried by the fangs.

*

After that, they got back into their habit of sharing a bed regularly, talking for long hours in the dark. Charles traced patterns in Hank’s fur, sometimes leaned up and kissed him with light, easy kisses that Hank could never quite believe was happening.

After a little while, he started to kiss back.

It felt good.

*

“What would you do if Erik came?”

It was easier to ask that question in the dark when he wasn’t looking at Charles and didn’t have to see his face. Just in case.

“I would be glad to see him,” Charles answered quietly, his hands still tracing whatever pattern he was trying to make over Hank’s back. “I would welcome him back like the old friend that he is. I hope that he would stay here forever. But if you’re asking the question I think you’re asking … there would be nothing else between us. I’m not going to pretend that would be easy because it wouldn’t but there’s … too much there and I have made you a promise and I want to keep that promise. I am not going to break that promise unless you release me from it and that would be your choice to make.”

His choice. His choice to keep Charles at his side or give him up to the man that the universe apparently thought most suited to him.

“When … when you say that,” he said and he knew his voice was trembling but he had to ask, he had to _know_.. “Do … do you just say that because you want to make me happy or because you … you care about me?”

“Because I care about you,” Charles said without even a pause. “Hank, this isn’t pity. This isn’t a consolation prize. I’m here because I want you.”

The sincerity was in his voice and in his thoughts, touching Hank’s mind to let him know just how true it was. That his feelings for Hank were strong and good and _real_. That he felt no repulsion when he looked at Hank or touched him, no disgust, no fear. That this was what he wanted and what he hoped that Hank might want as well.

“I love you,” Hank said and immediately wished he could snatch back the terrifying words that seemed to echo in the darkness around them becoming horrifyingly real in a way that somehow they hadn’t when he had simply hidden them inside his heart.

_I know_. Charles was in his mind, soft and comforting. _I love you too_.

*

No matter what the relationship between them, people always said that soulmates couldn’t really function without the other once they had those words on their wrists. No matter what they were to each other, the idea of them being separated was too hard to contemplate, they needed to keep finding each other, seeing each other, even if it were to hurt and simply exacerbate all the problems they had had before. Soulmates were soulmates for a reason, weren’t they? They needed to know the other still existed, needed to relive it, even if it still hurt.

Hank thought that might actually be true. 

But it didn’t mean that one soulmate couldn’t be happy without the other.

*

They both agreed that although the relationship wasn’t to be a secret, they wouldn’t make it obvious either. There were a lot of new people coming to this school, people that would be surprised enough to find that one of their professors was blue and furry without adding in the fact that he spent his nights in the headmaster’s room. 

Of course, they still found out. And even though Hank tried not to care, he couldn’t help worrying about what they would be saying. What they would think of the Professor taking something like _him_ to bed. There were still times when he used the serum – it was too useful to give it up entirely – but never at night. He might not be a monster but he wasn’t _human_. And more than one person had asked exactly how far the fur extended.

“I don’t care,” Charles said calmly. “Let them picture our sex life in whatever way they like. It will give them something to do. Perhaps it will even open their minds a little.”

Perhaps it would.

At any rate, nobody seemed to mind too much.

*

One of the questions that people often asked was if it was fair or wise or sensible to have a relationship with someone who wasn’t your soulmate.

Most people tried, of course. They had to try, the likelihood of meeting your soulmate was so low. But at the same time, wouldn’t it be terrible to make a life together only for you to bump into someone in a coffee shop some day and see their name ink its way over your wrist? What would that do to the person you claimed to love? What about the children, if there were any children? Wouldn’t it be better for people to wait for that one perfect individual to show up so that you didn’t suffer the pain of losing somebody else?

Could you even really love somebody who wasn’t your soulmate?

Some people said yes. Some people said no. It was a debate that had raged for years and would doubtless rage for countless years more. Was there just one person for you, one person that would make you happy and everybody else would pale in comparison?

Hank looked at Charles and Charles smiled back at him and Hank knew the answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt: learning to be loved.


End file.
